A Reparation
by ginnyharry.crucio
Summary: How hard is it to fill in your best friend's shoes?


This time, well, Chandler had got him really pissed.

It was late at night, probably around 1 o' clock, Joey couldn't really bother to check his watch. They walked together on the pavement; Joey maintained an angry distance while Chandler flailed his arms about apologetically, trying to get him talking. And in vain.

"At least listen me out Joe –"

"There is nothin' to listen!"

"Joey, please –"

"What, you slept through my movie again? Big deal for you!" Joey paced up furiously. Chandler jogged after, "I watched the first half!"

"Yes, like I said. Big deal! I thought you realise how important this is to me."

"I do realise that."

Joey paused on his tracks and turned. He sighed. "This hurts, you know."

Chandler bit his lip and looked back at him, unable to think of anything to say. Joey could know he was genuinely sorry now, but hey, this was _Chandler_. And Chandler really cared, but Chandler knew how to trick too. And he wasn't going to fall for one of them right then.

"Look, Joey, I'm so, _so_ sorry."

He scoffed at Chandler. He wasn't going to let this one go so easily. "You know what, screw this. You've changed."

"Wait, what?"

"Nothing, man. Forget about it."

"No, no, no – no – no – we'll sort this _now_." Again, with all the animation and raising of eyebrows and creasing foreheads and wide eyes and flailing of arms. "What's changed? You're still my best friend."

"Ugh, I was."

"What?"

Now Joey needed to answer. Sure, he was still pissed, but maybe he didn't want to sound this complaining? No, no. It was still his stupid best friend's fault. His jaw stiffened a bit as he stuck to his own defence.

"Yeah, I mean, it hurts. I know you and Monica just got children and it's great to be their uncle Joey, and you've got work and you've got responsibilities now and I get it – but, but – we met after six months and it's the greatest day of my life and I do – _not_ – deserve – to be dozed off!"

Chandler placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Still angry."

"Hey, what say to your place tomorrow and say hi to Chick and Duck Junior, then some Baywatch and chilled beer?"

"Not helpin'."

"Oh, c'mon we're J-man and Channy!"

"Who calls us that?"

"That's my line!" Chandler cried out in mock-protest.

"Yeah, whatever. Not that it makes me any less pissed," Joey stared at his shoelaces, trying to sound as grim as possible. The last thing he wanted to do was laugh out loud and break this pact with himself.

"Tomorrow then?"

"Okay," he relented grudgingly even as Chandler grinned, then snapped at him again, "Now shut up and let me contemplate my entire career."

"Okay, Joey, now that you're all cheered up I think I should tell you we are too far down a wrong alley."

* * *

For the first time since they walked out of the theatre Joey became conscious of his surroundings. Chandler was regrettably right; they had landed into a dark and shady alleyway with a fragile iron fence marking the dead end. Joey checked his watch – it was 1:30 a.m – then looked at him, confused.

"I guess I haven't gotten lost in this part of the city before."

"Yeah, let's make our way out before we encounter a hoard of smelly cats wanting to rip our throats out," Chandler replied, still audaciously snarky.

Joey grumbled, then turned to face him, his arms akimbo. "Wait a minute. So all of your _I'm – so – sorry's_ were a farce?"

"Huh?"

"Because you think I forgave you, and you plan on cracking jokes for the rest of the night."

Chandler screwed his eyebrows together. "What the hell is up with you, Joe?"

"You should be doing some thinking instead!"

Chandler stared at him with a cold, almost bored face. Then let out a long tired breath. "Oh, yes, definitely. I am doing some thinking. I'm thinking we're stuck in a weird-ass alley and probably we should fight it out after we get on a taxi home."

And Joey went off the track. "Yeah, that makes sense too."

Luckily the alley had blocked them early on. Soon they found their way back, and there were a few good minutes left before they parted ways. Joey yawned loudly. Sure he was mad at Chandler, but he was his closest friend and he couldn't stress it enough. No, that wasn't the point. The thing was, Joey needed his help at a very crucial job, and he was way too nervous to ask him.

"Hey, man, there was this another thing I wanted to ask you," he started, "Not that I'm still not mad at you or anything..."

"Okay?"

"Um, it's a little bit weird though –"

"Whoa, are – are you gonna propose?!"

Joey's insides flipped and fell into a deep dark endless cavern. " _How_ did you know?!"

"But, dude, I'm married," Chandler laughed out loud, "with a wife and two children. I'm guessing you've met them."

"Ugh, not to you," Joey rolled his eyes at Chandler's usual tendencies of being a dick.

"So, who's the lucky girl? And wait, if you're gonna propose to her, that means – you – you were hiding a relationship! You smooth bastard!"

"Yeah, sounds like something only you can do, eh?" Joey chuckled.

"Actually, yeah." He grinned to himself.

Thinking about it made Joey giddy with happiness. A kind of happiness he hadn't really experienced before he had met her. A kind of happiness that came with a little bit of sting and fear. What if she refused? The very thought sent a thrill through his spine. And for some mysterious reason, he loved that thrill.

He continued nevertheless. "Yeah, it's Allison. That pretty girl who got your apartment? I heard she just had lunch with Monica last week..."

"So, Monica knows too? Okay, my turn to get mad," scoffed Chandler.

"Oh, no no, Chan, listen me out. So, I happened to have a crush on this girl all this time, you know, not the kind that just makes me want to have sex with her, but actually be there for her all the time. You know what I mean, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know." He said it with a knowing smile.

"So, we've been like you and Monica all this time."

"Nah. You're telling me I had a crush on Monica ever since I became her neighbour?"

"Um. Yeah?"

"You weren't even there back then!"

"Oh, don't you try denying it," Joey nudged him casually.

"Whatever," he sighed and surrendered, "You know what, this thing calls for some celebration. The club at the corner must be up. It'll be our unofficial bachelor's party."

* * *

"To Joey Tribbiani, the star of the night!" Chandler raised his glass of vodka in the air.

Joey grinned wide. "Nice anchor impression, dude!" In fact, Chandler sounded a bit drunk. Which would be a pretty impossible feat given this was his first shot.

"To Joey Tribbiani, who finally found the woman of his life after sleeping with all the women in the city, and maybe more. To Joey Tribbiani, who finally understands what it is to be crippled by fear and self-loathing, and dehydration and random urges to pee."

"Are you drunk in happiness or somethin'?"

"Oh, maybe," Chandler nodded sleepily, and then carried on with the toast, "To the best buds, and two hideously glittering bracelets that lie in the third drawer of my bedroom!"

Joey was sure Chandler had sneaked out some alcohol before Joey could even begin. "I think you need some lime, Chandler."

"Yeah. Okay. But man, never doubt our friendship, alright."

"I never did."

"Nothing has changed," he was half-serious, and half-drawling on his words, "You mean a lot to me. So what we don't see each other often? You're – you're – you're a brother to me. You're family. And will always be. You know that, right?"

Joey never thought a drunken speech will move him this way. Chandler might be hammered, but he had meant every word. And he was damn right; Joey had probably known all of it already. But no matter how much he wanted to return a drunken reply, he had to go ring-shopping tomorrow and wouldn't like it if they found themselves in a city dumpster the next morning. Chandler needed to be brought back to his senses, and Joey didn't wish to lose his. He thought a drink or two would've helped him with the nerves, but right then he couldn't shake off the sudden craving for sleep. Urgently, he shot off towards the bar.

"I think I need to get some lime juice to feel manly again."

From as far as the bar counter, Joey could hear Chandler yelling merrily in the air. "My best friend is getting married! Could I _be_ any happier?"

* * *

"You know what, Chan, you should get those hideously glittering bracelets out of the closet and we'll be the _best–bud–man –and–groom_ ," said Joey, cautious and in a mock-happy tone, an hour after tolerating Chandler's drunken babble about how much he loved every one of them. Chandler looked up and nervously faked a grin; clearly he had sobered up from the lime. Joey sighed in relief.

"Need to go the bathroom," he got to his feet and stumbled his way drowsily through the sparse dancing crowd.

Amidst the hellish loud music, he stared at his last glass of margarita and wondered if he and Allison would ever be as great as Chandler and Monica. He remembered that one night when he had dreamt about solving crossword puzzles with Monica and woke up the next day thinking he had fallen in love with her. He had always cherished that closeness. But couldn't find any; Monica was Chandler's, it was a different kind of closeness with Phoebe, and with Rachel, well, it felt like stealing.

But this, this felt perfect. This was what Chandler was talking about when he and Monica first kissed. He wondered how he would watch Allison walk down the aisle with tears in his eyes, he'd watch Chandler and Ross fighting over who would be the best man – maybe he could get one of them ordained and be the minister instead, and then two-three years later he and Allison could settle down upstate – if they try hard enough they might be able to move beside Monica and Chandler's –

"Hands to the back of your head, now!"

Joey's head was rammed against the table and he snapped into reality. As he was forced on his knees, he saw three burly masked men holding AK-47s, shoving terrified people into corners.

"Get me the money!" One of the masked men screamed at another. The third one ferociously began scrambling into people's pockets and snatching away the purses. A couple of minutes later, Joey spotted Chandler returning from the bathroom, who stopped short at the scene, alarmed.

"Empty your pockets," the one with blond fishtail hair peeping out of his ski cap spat at the stunned Chandler, and before he could react, slammed the end of his gun against his ribs. Chandler crumbled to the ground, groaning.

Joey almost stumbled forward to reach out to his friend in a knee-jerk reflex. It was hard to hear across the space, but he was sure Chandler had commented something sarcastic right at the wrong time – nothing else could've landed him with another kick in the stomach. Joey swore he would make afterlife very unpleasant for Chandler if they all ended up dead because of an unfunny joke about the blond guy's fishtail.

Suddenly, somebody dragged Joey up by his collar. He stared right into the attacker's eyes through his black mask; they were grey, and he wouldn't be wrong if he called them cold and psychopathic. Better agree with whatever the man said, thought Joey. The grey-eyed man held the gun to his neck. "Tell me who the owner is."

How was he supposed to answer the question?

"I don't know," he breathed heavily, "I'm a customer."

"Should I believe him?" The man asked his partners. They laughed; it seemed Joey's head was up for a really good inside joke.

"Then tell us who knows," shouted the fishtail guy, "A bar with surprisingly no bartender. Nice touch. Now spit it out!"

Joey glanced around; the bartender had cleverly got off his coat and merged with the customer crowd. He gulped. He heard the gun cock under his neck. This was unreasonable. And inevitable. If he said he didn't know again, they'd kill him. If he stayed shut, they'd kill him anyway. His heart raced as he waited for his death. He hoped it was aimed for his head – the faster it was, the better. Only if Chandler hadn't been watching this.

"So you won't tell us, will you?" The grey-eyed man growled. From the corner of his half-closed eyes, he could see his finger over the trigger.

"For the la–last time, I don't know."

"That will be fucking enough, weenie –"

" _Hey_!"

Joey blinked again. It was Chandler, standing right across the dancing floor, his legs somewhat shaky. For a split-moment, all he seemed was furious. No, _no_. Chandler. What the hell was he doing?

It didn't take Chandler long to ponder upon the same question. The fury soon transformed into a twitching fear, as Chandler stood there, watching the robbers blankly. Then he stuttered out. "Let – let him go."

"You want a bullet, fag?" The grey-eyed man roared, and expectedly the pressure of the gun against Joey's neck relaxed. Joey, however, was still slightly trembling. Chandler just saved his life, but at his own expense. What _now_.

* * *

Chandler had no idea what he just tried to do. His sole purpose was to distract them from killing Joey, and now if he wished to save his own neck, he needed to improvise.

"Uhm, he knows nothing. Let him go," Chandler spoke again, trying to get some gravity in his voice. "I know where the – the vault is."

That certainly got the grey-eyed man interested, more so than anybody else. He half-released Joey, who was frozen stiff at his position, gazing at Chandler with bated breath. Chandler could read his face, and he was fully aware of the fact he was treading on a burning wire. Any misstep would get him a bullet to the head. Soon.

Chandler sensed the fishtail guy grab his jacket from the back. "No drama, man," he warned.

"You let him go," Chandler insisted again, wondering where this inexorable courage was coming from. Maybe it was a spark before he died. He felt a gun digging against his back. His heart throbbed so hard it gave his head a sharp spin.

Joey was virtually wriggling under the grey-eyed man's grasp. Eventually he was let free and dropped back on the floor, as the grey-eyed man clapped his hands together and let out a laugh of psychopathic excitement. "I like this game."

" _Chandler_!" Joey screamed. With another back and forth glance that the grey-eyed man gave them, Chandler was sure the man was up to something menacing.

"So you both happen to know each other. Interesting."

"Yes, yes, he – he happens to be a regular here," Chandler spoke instinctively, gesturing Joey to shut up.

"Why don't I kill your favourite regular here, and then get the information?"

"You are getting no information if you kill anyone," Chandler's shaky acts of stupid defiance just made Joey scream out something indistinctive again. He clenched his fists. It didn't matter; at least one of them should make out of here alive. He tried to steer clear of thoughts concerning Monica, Jack or Erica, and instead focused them on Joey.

"Don't fear for your own life, eh?" The grey-eyed man stepped ahead, his gun now pointing straight at Chandler's head. A gun in front, a gun at the back - it was a pretty exciting position to be, thought Chandler, so hopelessly scared he was almost sarcastic.

"You kill me, you get no information at all," he answered. He never expected he would be able to come up with a verbal comeback, let alone one this good.

"Fair enough," the grey-eyed man happened to have forgotten Joey by then. "You'll lead Steve." Then he sauntered down to the fishtail guy, even as he whispered ferociously in Chandler's ear, "If you're trynna be smart, you don't know what's waiting for you, chump. You get it?" Chandler bit his lip and nodded.

He murmured inaudibly to himself as he began walking towards the narrow hallway and practically, his death. "Well, aren't you a pleasure, big guy."

Then he looked at Joey. He was dumbfounded, half-scared, half in disbelief. But there was trust in his eyes. He knew Chandler was a man with a plan. Maybe that was what was keeping him from screaming out loud. Chandler exhaled. There were a thousand things he could've told him right then, but all he could mouth was a silent "Sorry".

* * *

The darkish hallway looked to him like a tunnel. He had, in his mind, half-figured what he wanted to do, but making a virtual blueprint and executing the plan are two grossly different things. Chandler glanced at the man at the back – he was growling and snarling like a hungry dog, poking the gun into Chandler's back again and again, barking at him to gain some pace.

Meanwhile, Chandler tried to rack his brains. They were almost there. And he was about to take a massive risk.

Soon the fishtail guy ran out of patience and rammed the gun again into his back. "How _far_?!"

Chandler couldn't help but scowl at him; luckily for him, the hallway that led to the bathroom was dark and meandering. He rubbed the place the guy rammed the gun into. "Almost there."

A couple of minutes later, they knocked into an ebony statue right beside the men's washroom. Chandler paused, held his breath, imagined crossing his fingers and said with as much confidence he could possibly bring to his voice, "This is it."

The man stared at him suspiciously. Chandler tried to maintain a poker-face. The guy spat, "This is a bathroom!"

"The last cubicle is always under-construction for customers. That's – that's where the vault is."

"You take me for an idiot?"

"Look," Chandler folded his arms, getting into the play, "I have no business to lie to you. I want to save my life. I have a wife and kids. If you – if you don't believe me, just feel free to go in and check."

The guy gave a grotesque snarl, pushed Chandler against the wall, and flung open the door. A waft of stale air-freshener stench hit their faces. Taking a second of curiosity, the fishtail guy took a step inside. A tiny, curious, suspicious step.

But this was Chandler's chance. It was now or _never_.

* * *

 **Hello, people! First FRIENDS story, be good and review!**


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